


there was too much fire in your two voices

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She invites herself into my TARDIS, turnabout is fair play and all that – surely she’d be happy to see me,” he quickens his pace as he mutters to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there was too much fire in your two voices

**_there was too much fire in your two voices_ **

He huffs quietly, kicking at the dirt in the path as he glares over his shoulder at the TARDIS, parked on the distant hill. Honestly –exiled from his _own_ time machine, that has to be a first. Well... but that wasn’t the point. The point was you inhale a little psychic pollen and suddenly his so called _friends_ felt a sudden urge for time alone.

Time alone _together_.

He’d not even been _consulted_ honestly. One minute they were contemplating the nature of psychic pollen and the next Amy was declaring them knackered and dragging a completely willing Rory up the stairs with an intent look in her eyes.

The Doctor shudders at the mental recall. At the very least he is grateful she wasn’t training that look on _him_ any longer.  Everything would have been _fine_ , but for the .... _noises._ You know, for a dimensionally transcendental ship, it was in no way _big enough_ at that moment. All those... _humany_ noises – he makes a gagging sound and glares at the ship once more.

He’d parked them – he had to – had to escape _somewhere_ and no part of his ship was allowing him to escape those wretched noises. Rory was _quite_ loud – honestly, he’d have thought maybe Amy... but no.  At any rate, the first coordinates he could think of, he’d tapped in. A string of random numbers, and here he is on the garden planet of Ortus, renowned for its cultivated shrubberies – over five thousand varieties of shrubs alone – and sprawling gardens. There were no buildings on Ortus, but several converted caverns and tree houses. He’d found himself in the grotto section, lush greenery spilling everywhere, punctuated by splashes of bright flora – really if they ever finish, Amy and Rory would likely love this place.

“Too busy to enjoy it though,” he mocks them in a high pitched tone and grips his TARDIS key tighter. Honestly – _how_ much longer could they _be_?! He huffs again and blows his fringe out of his eyes, pulling at his tweed, feeling overly stifled in the humid air.

He frowns and glares around him – there are surprisingly few tourists, so he figures they must have landed sometime during the 43rd century – during the planet-wide agricultural overhaul. Movement in the corner of his eye makes him turn his head, and he gapes, his hearts slamming against his ribcage as he fidgets, gripping the key tighter with an urge to _run away_.

Because _of course_ he would land on the one planet, in the one time period where _she_ was. Even from nearly forty meters away, River Song’s curls are utterly unmistakable as she exits a tiny cave, a bright smile on her face and dressed in practical khaki shorts and a vest. “Sod it, noises or no noises, we are _leaving_. I’ll re-park us in the 53 rd century – they have the water gardens added then – _much better_ ,” he mutters to himself, watching her walk down the path, further away from him and not even _noticing_ his presence, her steps hurried as she all but skips away from her dwelling.

For some odd reason, he is fairly certain he’s a bit miffed about that.

Shouldn’t she just _know_ he is here? Sense his presence or notice the TARDIS or – or – “Well I didn’t want to see her anyway,” he sniffs, feeling himself flush. “Sodding humidity,” he grumbles, yanking off his tweed and tossing it down in the grass beside him. “Why is she even _here_ anyway? This is an agricultural overhaul. She’s an _archaeologist_ ,” he spits the term out with distaste. “But no, she has her own sodding grotto on a closed planet during a historic overhaul. I wonder why she’s here,” he muses, and stops in the middle of the path, startled to find himself already halfway toward the cave she’d exited.

“She’d probably just cite bloody _spoilers_ ,” he grumbles, his feet moving once more, his boots kicking up a fine yellow dust as he traverses the path. “Maybe I just ought to figure it out for myself.” He nods as if he needed his own agreement, and he shoves the TARDIS key in his pocket, beside his sonic. “She invites herself into my TARDIS, turnabout is fair play and all that – surely she’d be _happy_ to see me,” he quickens his pace as he mutters to himself.

She was _always_ happy to see him, after all. If there was one thing he knew for certain about River Song, it was that she knew him very well, and welcomed him always. Well, to be fair, he’s only met her four times previously. He didn’t like to ever think on the first time, and the Bone Meadows he’d been fighting off an ancient civilization of stone warriors – he’d not been in a good place then. Asgaard she’d ambushed him with a picnic hamper, and somehow charmed him into spending an entire afternoon with her doing absolutely nothing but talking. And the Byzantium – well. Lots and lots of running with that one.

But every single time she greeted him the same – _hello, sweetie_ – and smiled up at him warmly with that flirtatious edge to her voice that screamed of her- well. He absolutely _hates_ it.

He also absolutely _adores_ it a bit. Because where she is, trouble is never far behind. And he does rather _love_ a good spot of trouble. He finds himself hesitating in the open doorway of her grotto. “Well, surely if she’d not wanted anyone to just _wander_ in, she’d have erected the security fields,” he pouts, a bit disappointed he wouldn’t be required to flourish any of his rather stellar sonicing and entering skills.

Her grotto is rather breath-taking. Everything – floors, walls, shelves, sconces, lighting fixtures – is carved from the stone itself. The sitting room is non descript enough – generic and usual. He scans with his sonic anyway and notes a holographic filter over by the ornate marble dining table that covers the kitchen entrance with a faux stone wall. There is a coat closet by the door that does the same.

He doesn’t waste time in here though – all of her _personal_ affects will be in the bedroom and he checks his sonic before heading down the hall. The bedroom is also generic, a low bed on a raised stone platform, and he bounces on the mattress, pleased to find it quite comfortable. He rummages through her bedside drawers, but aside from tourist brochures and a silk bag, he finds nothing. He pulls the silk bag from the drawer, something heavy and solid is inside and he loosens the drawstrings, intensely curious. He spills the contents out on to the bed, and he feels himself flush, his hearts working double time as he stares down at the glass object on the bed. It’s actually quite... _pretty._ He swallows, panicking for a moment – how the hell is he going to get it _back into the bag_?!

It’s solid glass, clear and veined with pink, and there is a blown glass pattern running through the center of the... instrument – he flushes again and coughs at the mere thought of its purpose – that reminds him greatly of the blown glass in his time rotor. “Surely _not_ ,” he squeaks, clapping his hands over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Finally after studying it far more carefully than he ever intended to, he turns the satin bag inside out and sticks his hand in it, picking _it_ up by the glass roundel that is clearly meant to be the handle and pulling the bag up and over and bag in place so he can carefully retie it and put it back in the drawer. Once that ordeal is over with, he breathes easier.

He jumps off the bed, because suddenly it is imbued with all sorts of _images_. Very not safe images. “Not the bed- definitely _not_ the bed,” he mutters to himself as he scans around. There are similarly filtered archways – one leads to the washroom, and one the closet. Though he knows he’ll find little in the way of _clues_ , he moves to the washroom first, opening bottles of shampoo and inhaling deeply. It smells just like her. Not that he’d _know_ what she smells like – except he sort of does. When she’d landed on him in the TARDIS, and when he’d steadied her hand in the Byzantium corridor. When she’d leaned in to read the date on the communicator – and when he’d leaned in to whisper in her ear on the beach. He still wasn’t sure _why_ he’d done that. Much in the same way he had no clue why he was actually here. She wouldn’t leave her diary just lying about – if there was one thing he’d learned about River Song, it was just how _clever_ she is. Clever enough and knows him well enough that she’d not just _leave_ it about.

He inhales again, savouring the scent and filing it away for future reference. He puts the bottle back and pokes through the various combs and brushes, her make-up bag and toiletries. Once he’s poked through everything he can find, he moves back into the bedroom with a sigh. “What, do you _want_ to get caught you idiot?” he scolds himself as he moves into the closet.

It is far larger than he imagined. Racks line the walls and there are plenty of clothes hung there- though funnily enough, River has never struck him as the type to unpack or get comfortable in places like this. He’d have thought she’d be more along the lines of _readytorun_ , but he smiles to see a small satchel on the floor. He ignores the shorts, dresses and shoes lining the floor and kneels beside it, unbuckling the flap with eager hands.

A noise from the other room startles him and he sits back, the satchel open in front of him, but he can hear voices and he panics, glancing around quickly.  Pointing his sonic at the concealed panel by the arch, he re-engages the holographic filter, essentially trapping himself inside. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He runs his hands over his face, tugging at his hair as he stares out into the bedroom anxiously. The hologram is only one way – which brings up the question of _why_ , but he can hear the voices draw closer and he fights to calm his breathing. How can he _possibly_ explain this to River?

He can hear her laugh, the sound low and thrumming through him – sometimes he swears her voice makes his very _bones_ vibrate – followed by a lower voice murmuring and he gasps. Has she got another _man_ here?

Not that he should care.

He most certainly _doesn’t_ care.

He leans forward, inching toward the archway to see if he can see who it is – the doorway is arched and wide open as well, after all, and he tells himself firmly that it’s not that he _cares_ , but if he _did_ it would only be because River has always given him the impression that she – that he – that _they_ – well. Even then he supposes there would be no _law_ stating that she couldn’t have a man in her room.

His stomach squiggles a bit at that thought and he swallows.

It’s just that if she is everything he very well suspects she is, and he suspects a _lot_ – he wouldn’t give his sonic to anyone, and he couldn’t tell her his name at any old time, there was a secrecy and a _power_ within it that called for special circumstances – then he knows himself well enough to know that he would not love another so long as River was a part of his life. If he loved her at all – his whole being still resisted the idea a bit. How could future him let him fall in love with another human? It wasn’t to be thought of.

“Well aren’t we direct?” River’s voice interrupts his thoughts and he looks up to see her backing into the bedroom, her curls tumbling across her shoulders as she looked up at whoever was in front of him. Oh no. _Oh no_. He couldn’t – she couldn’t – not with him _trapped_ in here! He swallows a squeak and glances around frantically.

“Aren’t we always, dear?” The Doctor pauses at the man’s voice, turning his head slowly to the archway, his hearts pounding.

It is _him_.

Not him now – he looks older, he thinks. His hair is a touch longer and less fluffy – really he can’t _wait_ to figure that bit the hell out – almost a year in and he still has no idea what to _do_ with it all. He isn’t in tweed at all, but a waistcoat and a patterned bow tie. The Doctor reaches up, touching his own bow tie and sighing in relief. Of course he still has a bow tie – bow ties are _cool_. His older self is moving toward River – one hand rests easily on her hip and the other just tangles in her hair and the Doctor watches, unable to look away. Down and free, River’s hair is _magnificent_ – a fact he’s known since Asgaard, though it was longer and darker then.  He’s absolutely longed to touch it ever since then, but he doesn’t _know_ her – not really, and it feels like an intrusion.

 _Clearly_ not an unwelcome one if River’s hum of pleasure is anything to go by, as she arches up onto her toes and presses herself into his palm. His older self pulls her toward him, a bright smile on his face as a giddy laugh escapes him. “I’ve _missed_ you, River,” he whispers down to her and River smiles up at him and the expression on her face causes the Doctor’s hearts to seize in his chest. That last time he saw her she looked at him with flirtatious intent. Smug, and warm and just a bit amused by him. Sometimes her expression would morph into an impressed face – and he quite liked that one.

But her expression now, looking at his future self – it is nothing but pure _love_. Passion too, but he’s never seen anything so beautiful as how she is staring up at him. Not _him_ , but yes, _him_.

“Oh sweetie, I’ve missed you too – you’ve _no idea_.” Her voice is soft and warm as she smiles up at him, her hands sliding up over the older Doctor’s chest and up into the ends of his hair, combing her fingers through there. “It’s been too long this time,” she whispers, sadness creeping into her tone and the Doctor feels his chest tighten at the sound of it. He’s been so busy avoiding her lately he’s never thought about how long _she_ must wait between visits.

_Why does she do this? Why does she even agree – or even love him at all?_

The older Doctor must be feeling the same, because he swallows heavily, his fingers in her hair tightening as he pulls her body against his. “Shhh, River. Oh my dear, I take so much from you-” he chokes up a bit and River shakes her head fiercely.

“Nothing I wouldn’t give freely, a thousand times over again, my love. You _know_ that. And what you’ve given _me_ -” her words are cut off by his kiss and the Doctor watches, transfixed and quite unable to turn his face away. His mouth goes dry and he watches River’s fingers tighten in his hair, as his counterpart slides one hand up over her back surely. He presses himself into her intimately as his mouth opens over hers and the Doctor feels a strange sort of longing combating with an odd envy within his chest.

River moans then, a low sound that shoots through him, like an arrow through his chest, burying deep – he feels like he cannot properly breathe. Oh that _noise_ – it’s delightful – and _he_ did that! Well, not him now, here, kneeling in her closet and hiding – but eventually those would be his hands stroking along her back and ribs and... other areas. Eventually that would be his mouth over hers. And presumably his tongue, though he can’t quite _tell_ from this angle.

River pushes into him harder, her spine curving as her hips push forward and she leans back. Another moan, longer and rougher this time, and he hears the older Doctor chuckle against her lips. She breaks away with a gasp and turns her head, staring straight at the closet. The Doctor holds his breath – she can’t see him, she doesn’t know he’s _there_ of course.

The older Doctor moves his mouth along her throat, and he glances over the tilt of her chin at the doorway as well, and he smiles before he bares his teeth and bites at her neck, causing her to gasp. “Sweetie!” The Doctor watches, a heavy sensation sinking through him and rooting him to the spot.

River doesn’t know he is here. But the older Doctor _does_. Of course he does – he was kneeling in this very spot, who knew how many years ago for him? The thought filters through him, sinking and landing, stirring up an odd feeling. He feels his skin tingle and hum, and he can feel the  hairs on his arm rise as he watches the older Doctor’s hands slip under her vest, fingers brushing against her stomach as she continues to make all of these _noises_. Pants and gasps, moans and hums and wordless noises of encouragement. Each one stirs that feeling higher and higher within him, and he can’t seem to breathe properly. Surely there isn’t enough oxygen supply to this closet.

His mouth opens as he watches River laugh, lifting her arms and letting the future Doctor skim her vest up over her head, leaving her clad in a honey coloured bra. The Doctor’s hearts beat even faster as he watches the older Doctor, pressing kisses against her skin, his mouth dragging over her clavicle as River’s hands slip between them to make quick work of the buttons on his waistcoat. She shoves the item off of his shoulders just as the older Doctor licks at the top of her breasts and the Doctor’s breathing stutters and dies. Oh, oh no – he can’t watch this!

He cannot watch this!

But he can’t look away either, and that heavy feeling is growing weightier, even as his chest fills with a swirl of fluttering emotions. He shifts forward as the older Doctor pushes River toward the bed, guiding her up onto the platform as his fingers undo the clasp of her bra.

The Doctor’s mouth goes dry once more, and he stares as the garment slides away from her body and oh – _oh_ – she is all honey skin and glorious breasts and he lets out a groan, clapping a hand over his mouth in shock. Had that noise come from _him_?

River stills, and frowns, glancing around the older Doctor’s shoulder. “Did you hear something, sweetie?”

“Not even a pin dropping, River – though you’ll have to excuse me, I don’t really concentrate on anything but you when we’re like this,” he teases her softly, his hands cupping her breasts and his fingers undulating over her nipples and she moans deep and heavy at that – her head tossing back as she forgets all about any sounds she heard. The Doctor lets out a breath in relief as the older Doctor backs River on to the mattress, his mouth now replacing his hands.

The Doctor makes some sort of inarticulate noise, but River has her hands threaded through his counterpart’s hair and she is moaning far too loudly to hear any noise _he_ makes. He feels a tingle, low in his groin and he glances down in shock. Surely this isn’t turning _him_ on? “Oh, god, Doctor!” River shouts the words from the bed and the older Doctor is moving down the expanse of her stomach now, kissing and kissing and kissing her. This is something he will apparently develop an affection for, because his older self’s mouth is never far from her skin. He kisses and licks and bites at her, as her hands tug at his bow tie, wrapping it around her fist and leaving it there, before she unbuttons and removes his shirt. She strokes the bowtie covered hand over his shoulders and back as the older Doctor groans.

“River,” he mumbles against the skin of her stomach and River laughs, a low, throaty sound that spreads across to his ears, slow like honey.

“Hmmmm sweetie?” she asks languidly and his counterpart nips at her hip bone and she gasps – a high pitched breathy noise that has the Doctor feeling more than a little flushed as he kneels by the holographic filter. It is too _warm_ in here, he thinks as he tugs his own bow tie undone, pulling it from his neck and unbuttoning his collar as River kisses the Doctor on the bed.

It’s not enough, the Doctor thinks desperately and he unbuttons a few more buttons until his shirt is gaping and blessedly cool air hits his own over heated skin. He feels better then, still watching as River hooks a leg up over the other Doctor’s hip, and she must be doing something, because the Doctor groans, biting at her lips. They are lying on the bed, at a bit of an angle, but the Doctor is given a clear view of everything and he has to wonder if his older self planned it that way.

He hates himself sometimes.

Because he’d like to think he wouldn’t do that, but he knows he can be a smug bastard and who knows what _that_ Doctor knows, or how far ahead he is. “Oh god, more, please, honey,” River’s voice is a whimper and the Doctor watches his own hands divest her of her shorts and knickers until she is spread, completely nude on the bed.

He shoots up to stand, unable to sit _still_ any longer, he turns in a frantic circle – what the hell is he supposed to _do_? He can feel the heat in his cheeks and oh goodness – River is _naked_. She has no clothes on and his cocky, arrogant, _prick_ of an older self has angled her across the bed in just such a way that he can see _everything_.

He licks his lips and turns back to the view before him, his hands dropping in front of the bulge in his trousers, gripping each other tightly as he looks. She is... _breathtaking_. So gorgeous and perfectly proportioned. The variation from her breasts to hips to waist is so perfect – he can calculate the curve just _looking_ at her, and the numbers dance across her skin and swim before his eyes. Beautiful.

“So beautiful, oh, my River,” his older self breathes the words out and the Doctor nods in agreement. His – but not his – hands trail down along her skin, over her stomach and hips, and down her thighs. He pushes her leg out and to the side and the Doctor actually _does_ gasp out loud at that sight. He swallows and watches himself settle between her thighs – and _oh_ – oh – oh how is he going to _survive_ this?

If he thought the noises River had made before were titillating, he’d had no idea. Oh he’d been so cluelessly _stupid_ fifteen minutes ago. Because now she simply let go – her hands still fisting his bowtie, flung out to clutch at the sheets with it and she won’t _stop_ making noises. Moans and pants and whinges and cries – words of encouragement, terms of endearment, declarations of love – all so _loudly_ his ears are ringing with her cries and he is a good fifteen feet away.

Each sound wave hits him like a physical stimulus, and his hands are white with tension and he bites his lip so hard he can taste the thick sweetness of his own blood in his mouth as he moans. She can’t possibly hear him now anyway, and his hands let go of each other, because he can’t – he can’t _sit_ and _watch_ and _listen_ and do every bloody thing but _feel_.

His hands shake as he pulls at the fly of his trousers and he thrills at the sight of the same tremor quivering through her spread thighs as his older self presses his face there. He can’t see quite clearly what the older Doctor is doing, but oh he _knows_ well enough that his mouth is suddenly watering at the imagining of it. He wonders what she tastes like – and judging by his counterpart’s hums and moans, all overflowing with a simple _joy_ , it must be _amazing_. “Oh yes,” he hisses the words out as he finally frees his straining erection from his trousers and pants.

He should be mortified by his own behaviour right now, he knows. But he listens to River’s cries and his older self’s smug satisfied hums and he can’t help but think maybe – maybe River would approve. Maybe she would _like_ it. He takes himself in hand, the same hand that is still holding his bow tie and he hisses at the feel of the satin against his sensitive flesh.

He grips himself firmly, sliding his fist up and down slowly as he watches River gasp and arch off of the bed – only her shoulders are pressing down into the duvet as she screams out his name. His or the man between her thighs – it doesn’t matter, because they are the _same_. His hand moves faster as River reaches down, hauling that Doctor up to her and snogging him like mad. She licks at his chin, his mouth, his lips, until he opens his mouth for her and the Doctor can actually _see_ her suck that Doctor’s tongue into her mouth as her hands shove at his trousers and pants, stripping him as bare as she is. She pulls him closer, one leg lifting but that Doctor shakes his head, moving back to lie on the bed sideways, his head pointing toward the closet and his feet toward the opposite wall. “Come here, my love,” his voice is rough, and River grins, the apples of her cheeks rising as she scrambles onto her hands and knees.

She kisses him then – the way he’d kissed her earlier – like she is mapping every inch of skin – checking for any changes. She licks at the inside of his elbow, hums and bites at his collar bone, flicks her tongue over his chest and scatters kisses across his stomach. She’s about to go lower and the Doctor watches intently, his hand still clenched around his erection and moving at a slow pace. But the older Doctor shakes his head. “No, River – I need you _,”_ he begs her and she smiles, kissing his mouth softly as she swings a leg over his hips and sinks on top of him.

His hands grip her hips and she throws her head back and chest out – her skin is flush from earlier, and her breasts are rosy tipped and she is giving him the absolute _perfect_ view. He moans – unable to stop himself, but his older self is moaning too, his hands encouraging her as she rises and falls over him, her breasts bouncing and her cries growing in volume once more.

He would _have_ to get the TARDIS some soundproof rooms; otherwise he may end up scaring the Ponds off. His own hand moves quicker, faster and faster, keeping time with River’s hips as she slides herself over his future self. She has one hand planted against his chest, and the other, still wrapped in that bow tie – perhaps she had a _kink_ about them and he grins at the thought as his hand keeps pace with her – slides across her own heated skin, stroking at her breasts and stomach.

He can feel his release creeping up on him, the tension builds in his thighs, bunching the muscles there as he feels that heaviness within him draw up and up and up – he glances down at the stone floor and realises he cannot – not _here_.  He glances around frantically and grabs what looks like a silk nightdress from a shelf right by him.

River’s moans grow louder and the future Doctor pulls her down, his hands in her hair as he whispers something in her ear that leaves her gasping and writhing before she pushes herself back up, her eyes hot with lust. “Oh god, sweetie, I love you so much, just a bit – just a bit more. Help,” she begs and he can see the older Doctor’s hand reach between their bodies, his wrist bending and twisting as River’s cries grow louder and louder until they are ringing in his ears.

“Oh _River_ ,” he groans or the other him groans or they _both_ groan at once and she shatters with a scream, his hands gripping her tightly as he groans out his release, and in the closet the Doctor does the same, hand and bowtie wrapped tightly around his erection as he presses the nightdress against himself with the other hand, his own orgasm rocking him down to his toes as he slides into a heap on the floor.

“You are quite pervy really,” River giggles and kisses his future self softly as he fights to catch his breath so he can hear better. The older Doctor whispers something to her and she pouts down at him. “But the mind _races_ , sweetie,” she speaks in a hushed whisper and the older Doctor chuckles, and shakes his head.

“You promised to show me the excavation site remember?” His voice is low and gravelly and she sighs with another pout, but kisses him anyway, smiling when she pulls away. She stands, completely nude, and strolls over to pick up her knickers and shorts, and then continues to her bra, and finally her vest – and she is less than five feet from the closet and he freezes, unable to _breathe_. “ _River_ ,” his older self calls out in a warning tone and she sighs, shooting a look over her shoulder at him.

“Just getting my clothes honey,” she laughs and bends forward to scoop up his waistcoat. As he rises, there is a moment when his hearts stop, because he _swears_ she is looking straight through that filter and right at him. But she continues to stand and strolls back over to the older Doctor, leaning down to kiss him.

They dress quickly, still a bit breathless and giggling as River helps his older self tie his bow tie, stroking at it gently before she stands on tip toe to kiss him softly. “Alright – let’s go – it’s about a ten minute walk, think you can handle that old man?” she is teasing and the older Doctor’s grin lights up as he nods.

“What sort of odd artifact did you say it was?” he asks as he takes her hand, pulling her into his side as they head for the door.

“Ancient slabs, I’ve never seen the language before, seems to be some sort of ancient _runes_ ,” she explains as they exit and the Doctor watches them go, still not moving. Just as they are about to leave, River shoots a glance over her shoulder, slipping her arm around the older Doctor’s waist and blowing a kiss back in the direction of the closet and the Doctor stumbles back as though struck.

Oh god.

She _knew_ he was there. He glances around in a panic, before cleaning himself off and crumpling the nightdress and bowtie in one hand as he drags the other hand over his face. “No wonder she always has that look on her face around me,” he hisses to himself as he yanks up his braces and fastens his trousers, buttoning his shirt up and feeling oddly naked without his bow tie. “She must know what a perverted old man I am.” He trips over the satchel on the floor, falling into the bedroom, but they have thankfully already donned their shoes and left. He speeds out of the bedroom, nightdress still in his hand but he can’t _leave_ it – not like this. The TARDIS key burns in his pocket as he exits the grotto. He glances left and see them – hand-in-hand and River laughing up at that Doctor, who is smiling lazily down at her in response.

They are the picture of relaxed joy, and he finds himself staring after them, that odd pang of envy back. “Best not rush to the destination though, eh?” he reminds himself, and he turns and lopes back up the path until he reaches his tweed, still abandoned in the grass. He stuffs the nightdress into it, balling everything up as he glances up at the hill top with a sudden grin. He’s feeling rather relaxed himself actually – less tense and more fluid as he strolls toward his ship.

Maybe he’ll take Amy and Rory on a nice vacation – somewhere warm and pleasant. Rio is lovely, and he knows Amy will love it. And maybe after that – well, Rory’s not properly met River yet, and that’s as good an excuse as any to seek her out right?

He breaks into a run.

 

 


End file.
